


Mastication

by round_robin



Series: Kinks in Your Back [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Food Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, PWP, not series two compatible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-31
Updated: 2012-03-31
Packaged: 2017-11-02 19:08:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most people don't know this, but Sherlock does eat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mastication

**Author's Note:**

> Not betaed or Brit-picked, so all mistakes are mine. If you see a typo, I'd love to know about it. :)

Sherlock stared expectantly at the nectarine he’d placed in front of John. John started back at him. “Well?” He asked. “What do you expect me to do with that?”

It took all of Sherlock’s strength not to sigh at the tone in John’s voice. This was going to be harder than usual. “Are you going to make me beg?”

“Possibly,” John said. “You were a right bastard today. No matter what Anderson says to you, he never deserves _that_. So why should I do anything for you?”

“But I was right!” He nearly shouted. Vicious tremors rippled through all of Sherlock’s limbs. He was surprised he could stand at this point. Today had been… too much. Where any of them got off doubting Sherlock’s deductions after this long was baffling. Because he was always right (usually). He’d been right when the Westminster Strangler wasn’t one man, but a group working together to create chaos for the police, and he was right today. Why they insisted on fighting him and driving Sherlock up the metaphorical wall was beyond him.

“Not the point,” John said, his tone still even. In Sherlock’s opinion, John was disgustingly good at keeping himself together. It was always very helpful, except times like these, when Sherlock was the one falling apart and he didn’t want to be the only one in that state.

“What is the point?” He finally snapped. The nectarine still sat on the table between them, completely untouched. “Just tell me what you want from me and I’ll do it!”

Thankfully, John didn’t smirk in triumph when Sherlock was the first to cave. “Next case, apologize to Anderson.”

Sherlock wanted to say no, he really did… apologizing to Anderson was up there with chugging battery acid. Given the choice at the moment, he’d probably pick the latter. But he didn’t have a choice. Either he said yes, swallowed his pride and apologized, or John kept up this stale mate and Sherlock would never get himself together.

“Yes,” he agreed. John’s eyebrow arched minutely, more interested that it hadn’t taken him long to agree than him agreeing in the first place. As if to distract him, Sherlock swept the nectarine up from the table and held it in front of John’s face. “Now. Please.”

With a nod, John took the fruit and pulled out the other chair with his foot. Sherlock fell into it like he could barely control his nervous system. Well, that’s what it felt like. “You know the rules,” John mumbled as he rubbed the smooth skin against his lips.

“Yes,” Sherlock breathed. His eyes were one hundred percent focused on John’s mouth and the fruit, and how close they were. “Please,” he whispered again.

John’s lips parted and hard, white teeth dug into the soft skin, breaking through to the meat of the nectarine instantly. Juice started dripping down John’s chin before he’d even finished that first bite. He made no move to lick the drips away, that was Sherlock’s job.

Finally, his teeth closed around the bite and pulled the morsel of fruit away from the rest. Chewing slowly, John made sure Sherlock saw every single movement. The detective sat next to him, staring as if hypnotized at John’s glistening lower lip. When John swallowed, Sherlock did too. His Adam’s apple bobbing as a red blush started to make its way up that long, beautiful neck.

John gave him a second before holding the nectarine out. “Now you,” he said. Sherlock didn’t need telling twice. He leaned forward and took the smallest bite he could get away with, eyes never leaving John’s.

When he’d finished with his bite, Sherlock stayed where he was. His tongue darted out to lick away the juice that started dripping down John’s fingers. Once he’d had enough—for the moment—he grabbed John’s wrist and pushed the fruit back towards the other man. “Now you,” he repeated.

John nodded and took another bite, larger this time. More juice squeezed out of the fruit and made its way down his chin, starting to drip over his neck. Before it could get any farther, Sherlock was there. Warm, pink tongue traced the drops up over John’s throat, back to his chin. That’s where Sherlock stopped. He wanted to save the rest for later.

Once again, John held the nectarine out to Sherlock, who took another bite. The dance went on like this for a while. One bite for John, one bite for Sherlock. Any drips that started making their way down John’s fingers were instantly chased by a deft tongue, and any other juice that thought it could escape down John’s neck was similarly apprehended. But John’s lips and cheeks continued to glisten with juice, waiting until this was all done.

Everyone’s first assumption after seeing Sherlock not eat, was that it was a bit strange. Some assumed it was a disorder (no) others knew that he didn’t eat while he worked (yes) but no one assumed it was a fetish. Sherlock preferred to call it a fascination, but John knew what it really was. Yes, Sherlock was fascinated with the mechanical process of masticating—specifically, watching it happen—and he preferred to let himself be on that end of it: watching, observing. And: getting off on it.

As soon as John learned this interesting tidbit about Sherlock, he saw how to use it to his advantage. John would eat whatever Sherlock asked him to, and let the man watch to his heart’s content, if Sherlock took one bite for every one that he did. Sherlock found these terms acceptable.

It was a little distracting, John would admit, as most of their meals ended with snogging at the very least, but overall it was a sustainable process. Sherlock purged the post-case adrenaline through a spectacular orgasm, and John made sure the other man ate. Win-win. Also, the fact that it was sexy as hell didn’t hurt. Not one bit.

When John got down to the pit, Sherlock wasn’t shaking anymore. His cock was rock-hard in his thin pajama bottoms, straining against the fabric, but he was able to sit completely still now and focus on watching John eat.

John closed his lips over the pit and worked on pulling all the last wisps of fruit from it. When he was sure he’d gotten it all, he let his tongue trace over it one last time before setting it down on the table. His eyes never strayed from Sherlock once.

As soon as the pit touched the table, Sherlock pounced. Taking John’s sticky face in his equally sticky hands, Sherlock set about licking away every sweet trace of juice. His tongue laved across John’s lips, over the point of his chin, up over his cheeks, even across his eyelids. Then Sherlock reached John’s earlobes and started to suck bruises into his neck. For his part, John reached around the detective’s back and pulled the younger man into his lap. Sherlock didn’t protest in the slightest.

In their new position (with Sherlock straddling him) John could get his hand into Sherlock’s pajamas and around his cock. He moaned against John’s neck, grinding down and thrusting up into that wicked hand. “John, oh, John,” Sherlock moaned against his neck. He ground down again, giving John some attention as well. He groaned out his appreciation and tightened his hold on Sherlock, stroking faster, and faster, and faster, until…

Now, their everything was sticky for a very different reason. “Sherlock,” John managed to pant. “Not that I don’t love doing this,” because he did, and not just because it got Sherlock to eat. “But I can’t keep coming in my trousers.”

“I’ll pay for the dry cleaning,” Sherlock mumbled into John’s neck, not quite ready to pull away. “I always do.”

“Yes,” John nodded. “But now I’m down to just my pajamas, and I have work tomorrow.”

“Call in sick,” Sherlock whispered and finally pulled back. His face was pink and sticky, but the smile was beautiful. “Can we have noodles for dinner?” Sherlock smirked.

“Oh, Christ,” John sighed and let his head fall back. “You do that to me, I won’t have to call in sick tomorrow, I’ll have to call in dead.”

“Is that a yes?” Sherlock asked.

John Watson would be a liar if he said it wasn’t.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> This belongs to a new series of one shots. They can be read in any order and don't necessarily exist in the same universe, they only have one thing in common: kink. :)
> 
> Hope everyone enjoyed.


End file.
